


The Void Beckons

by Bruz



Category: Exalted (Roleplaying Game), Jumpchain, 盾の勇者の成り上がり - アネコユサギ | Tate no Yuusha no Nariagari | The Rising of the Shield Hero - Aneko Yusagi
Genre: Alternate Canon, Gen, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:16:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bruz/pseuds/Bruz
Summary: This is a chain starring a formerly mostly loyal Daybreak Caste Deathknight of the First and Forsaken Lion, encased in soulsteel at the hands of his own erstwhile master, and his many attempts to help with both a very shaky understanding of mortals and a supernatural skillset entirely unsuited for anything but terrorising the world and eventually casting it into the Void.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. Rising of the Shield Hero/1

Jump One:  
**Origin: Summoned Hero  
Race: Human  
Perks:  
System -0  
Magic Flow -300  
Intimidation -0  
Meta-Knowledge -0  
Strong Constitution -100  
Revelation (Incomparable Destruction Engine) -200  
Items: +200  
Legendary Weapon (Shield) -300  
**

**
  * Strengthening Method: Tempering -50 (350)
  * Strengthening Method: Job Level -50 (400)
  * Strengthening Method: Growth Elevation -50 (450)
  * Strengthening Method: Magic and Skill Proficiency -50 (500)
** 


**Lucoro Fruits -50  
Companions:  
Canon Companion (Raphtalia) -50  
Drawbacks:  
Comparable Continuity (LN) -0**

********

Four people appeared within a mighty throne room. One had long, blonde hair and held a spear. Another had black hair and possessed a sword. The third, auburn hair and a bow. And the last was eight feet tall, armoured in what at first glance looked like living shadows yet sometimes showed screaming faces deep within the metal, and bore a simple shield that clashed badly with his menacingly spiked form. A cloak of fur from some mighty primeval beast adorned his shoulders, and his mighty horned helm whipped around. Though nothing but pitch darkness could be seen through his vision slits, any observer could see him frantically scanning his surroundings.

“How,” the gigantic knight muttered, as if lost, “how are there no shadowlands at all? Why are they so quiet?” He tugged at his shield, finding it impossible to remove, and his confusion seemed to grow ever further. “This too…?”

The other three were similarly milling around confused, and sometimes threw stares his way. The shield bearer shrugged it off; he was used to worse.

“Please, mighty heroes,” someone in the crowd spoke up. A herald, perhaps. “Save our world!”

He immediately went into a lecture. This world was regularly threatened by “waves”, some sort of dimensional crack that committed forth monsters that were terrorising the world, so they came together to summon four heroes to save their people from the monsters. The very thought of alternate worlds proved a long-running theory many of the Unclean had about the Void and certain Underworld phenomena.

The king - Aultcray Melromarc, he named himself - commanded the four of them to name themselves. The Spear Hero was Motoyasu, 21, the Sword Hero, Ren, 16, the Bow Hero, Itsuki, 17. All students. Finally, it was the dark knight’s turn to speak. Yet before he could open his mouth, the king spoke.

“Please, Hero of the Shield, remove your helmet so we may know your face,” he commanded in a cold tone.

“It does not come off,” the black knight flatly replied in a voice that sounded like the slamming of coffin doors. “for it secured with nails driven into my very soul. I am the Shogun of Death’s Black Legions. I no longer possess a name; I cast it into Oblivion many years ago. I am eighty-seven years old and for the last four I have- did serve as a knight of the First and Forsaken Lion, who serves He Who Holds in Thrall. By their authority was I empowered by the lords of the Underworld to be their lieutenant in matters both military and necromantic. I read a book within my liege’s study and ended up here. Yet if this world truly be ending, I shall protect it. I doubt anyone here would wish to see the world ended.” It was good they could not see the wretched grin under his helmet.

This set a wave of muttering among the crowd.

“Erm, very well,” the herald who had spoken earlier said, “We’re going to need to confirm your statuses. You should see an icon, just focus on it.”

As the Shogun opened his, he noticed his name section was blank. He was a ‘Level 1 Shield Hero’, which if this Creation was like the one he read about, meant he was starting at the very beginning here. It seemed the gifts of his Last Breath was not reflected upon his status here.

“You look like the final boss in some RPG,” Ren said.

“Final boss? RPG?” The Shogun certainly was a boss, but far from the ultimate authority in the Lion’s realm. Even ignoring his seven peers.

“Ah, well, I’m not really sure how to explain it.” He seemed to struggle for words. Fortunately, he was interrupted by the king summoning the party members of the heroes. Each one got several flunkies attending to them. Except the Shogun. He didn’t blame them; if he was a puny mortal he wouldn’t hang around a Deathknight either. Always a chance you’d be an organic Essence battery.

“Ah,” the king said, in a tone that was clearly supposed to be sympathetic, “the Shield Hero has never been a popular one, you see, and-”

“Don’t worry,” a young redhead from Motoyasu’s party said, smiling, “I will join him! Someone fighting on their own is so tragic. I’m Myne! Pleased to meet you!”

The Shogun felt a flickering connection within his soul. The powers within his Black Exaltation were telling him that despite her bubbly exterior and noble words, this woman had a heart as desolate as a nephwrack. It was likely this lady was wooed by his influence and wished to ride his coattails to greater heights of her own. She could not be trusted.

“I need no female companionship,” he rebuffed, emotionlessly, “For I have neither the drive nor the need for intercourse. And even if I did, I would rather find another.”

“Excuse me?!” The redhead was clearly stunned. The Shogun repeated himself, and she grew angrier before abruptly erupting into a smile.

“But you see,” she said, growing insistent, “The shield has so little attack power!”

“It will not just be the shield.” The Shogun held his hand out, palm upwards as shadows gathered around. “I also possess an- ouch.”

Something zapped his hand and the shadows dissipated. A window popped up explaining that the shield refused to let him wield other weapons. The Shogun frowned ponderously contemplating this news. Bonking someone with the shield seemed very impractical, and that just left martial arts as his sole means of serious attack. Which he did not know. Inwardly, he cursed not bothering to learn martial arts earlier; if this world had no sifu capable of tutoring him, he would probably be limited only to his native style. It seemed like so much time and effort wasted to learn when the arts of necromancy were just as tempting and a relatively short training period with a blade could ensure he didn’t die from bumping into a hostile Chosen. Just desserts and all that.

“This shield seems to have some resistance to calling my blade.”

“Indeed,” the king said scornfully, “The Holy Weapons are jealous things. You cannot wield any other.”

“So you must see, you need someone to join up!” Myne was at it again. The fact she was so eager to join his party was ringing every alarm bell possible in his head. A desolate heart and latching on to a slave to Oblivion. Not good. 

“I do not. This is final” he stated, at last putting some supernatural force into his words. This finally convinced her to lay off it. She stepped back quietly and the hall fell into silence. Perhaps he’d overdone it, cloaking himself in the terror of impending doom. But it did shut her up.

After a pregnant pause, the king cleared his throat and began to speak some more. The four of them were granted a quantity of silver pieces - it seemed the Shogun’s wealth would only be some sort of currency here if it was minted in gold or silver - and they were sent out.


	2. Rising of the Shield Hero/2

The Shogun picked up a pebble. This was a rock. A perfectly ordinary rock. He told himself all he was doing was picking up a rock to add to his collection. Nothing more. Suddenly, faster than the eye could see, he flicked the pebble that travelled with inhuman speed and accuracy straight into an orange bubble-monster-thing right in the corner of his vision which instantly exploded when the rock struck it. Immediately two menus popped up, one declaring he’d gained a single point of XP and the other lecturing him on using forbidden weapons. His health dropped slightly as electric pain shot up his arm. But he’d killed it. He bent down again to take another pebble, focusing his thoughts on an immanent rock collection. This time it shocked him before he even touched it. Clever shield. He decided not to provoke it any more.

He picked up the scraps of the balloon thing. The gem on the shield shone, and curiously he touched the scraps to the gem. The shield immediately told him he’d unlocked a new shield: the Orange Balloon Shield. 

Time to continue. He stumbled upon another balloon and hit it a few times. The damage output of the shield was terrible and even his Last Breath only barely compensated for it. Punching it a dozen or so times before it too exploded, he realised if he did not compensate for it some way he really would have to ask the redhead to join up with him.

Trying a new strategy, he let one balloon come within arm’s reach, grabbed it and hurled it at another. This didn’t trigger the shield warning, but they just bounced nearly harmlessly off each other. Damn things were made of rubber. Still might be a useful trick if he bumped into a more solid opponent.

But still… perhaps he could ask the Neverborn. The Whispers were no longer an omnipresent drone of visions and words since he entered this world, but perhaps he could connect to them. Closing his eyes, he tried to force a connection to them, asking them to bring him to someone with potential, someone he could trust to fight beside him.

The all-too familiar vision quest struck him. An explosion of audible glossolalia, yet he truly knew what it meant. The last cries of dead primordial titans calling upon him to free them from their eternal agony. Visions, first of unknowable primeval horrors trapped upon the border of life and death gave way to the sight of a little girl with the ears and tail of some raccoon animal. Witnessing her parents being eaten alive by a giant three-headed dog, carted off into slaver, tortured by an obese nobleman, cradling her dying friend, and finally sold to another little fat slave trader. A veritable Shoat of the Mire, almost. 

He opened his eyes. He was standing in front of a large tent. Even from the outside, his close attunement to Essence of death told him this place had a cloying fog of sickness and death lying over it. A faint urge to turn it into a funeral pyre, a burnt offering accompanying its owner into the Underworld struck him. But this was an idle fantasy for now.

He confidently strode into the tent and was greeted by a short fat man. The one from his visions, no doubt. He felt the same desolate heart from this man as from Myne, and this was not a good sign either.

The shopkeeper immediately politely greeted him as the Shield Hero. Well, it would be surprising if people didn’t know about the Shield Hero considering his entrance and the way he looked.

“I’m here about a raccoon slave.” The Shogun cut him off. “Bring me to her.”

More scraping and compliments. The slave trader was really getting under his skin, yet he lead him back to where people were lined up in cages. Past the healthiest and strongest slaves, further back to the sicker and more crippled ones where the miasma of sickness grew thicker and thicker. Finally we stopped in front of a cage.

“Here she is, sir. Not very healthy, no sir. Not long to live no doubt.”

It was true, the little girl was in a terrible state. Pale, coughing and what was a mostly dead expression that turned to pure terror as she shrunk away into the darkest corners of her cage, away from the Shogun. He felt a twinge of sympathy looking down upon her mixed in with confusion why the dead titans had lead him to her. More than a twinge, really. But she was also going to be useless as a warrior if she was totally terrified of him. Trying to reassure her, he thought how he was old enough to be her grandfather or perhaps great-grandfather, and tried to put on a gentle face. As gentle as one could be when one is an eight foot tall giant in spiked armour of tormented souls and the other is a traumatised little girl.

“Don’t worry,” he tried reassuring her, “I’m the Shield Hero and I’m here to save the world.”

This seemed only to confuse her further.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” he tried. This too did not work. He racked his brains for something that would get her to stop quaking at the sight of him. But he turned up nothing. A skillset revolving around terrorising the world and killing people was inefficient at this task, but he could hardly change it on the fly now.

Giving up for now, he turned back to the slave trader and hashed out a proper price for her. Applying the slave crest seemed painful, but the Shogun rationalised it as a necessary pain. And of course, he did not forget to secretly add the slave ink to his shield. It unlocked an interesting slave-themed shield he had to check out later. He then left the slave tent and went on his way to find a place of lodging.

Mortals were trouble. You have to feed them, water them, and they sleep for eight hours a day. Perhaps he should have built himself an undead servitor- but no, that would probably give a worse impression to the people he was supposed to be saving. He had to be a hero now. Not think like a deathknight, like the yellow boys who liked to yell about Heaven and the Sun. He had little experience in this regard but buying a slave is a good first step. Even more curiously, he had yet to feel a single bite of Resonance despite building good relations with mortals. It was too much to hope he was beyond the reach of the Neverborn, but perhaps-

The raccoon interrupted his thoughts with a coughing fit. If she died here, it would be trouble.

“Halt,” he commanded, and picked her up. “Allow me to treat your sickness.” She immediately began trembling, more so when the mouth section of his helm cracked, split in two and swung open, revealing a mouth full of predatory sharp teeth. She screamed incredibly loudly and struggled as he bit into her neck and drained her, not just of a bit of blood, but also of the disease within her body. 

“You should feel better now,” he said, putting her struggling body down and steadying her so she did not fall over. But she still panicked. The Shogun reflected how much he didn’t understand mortals. He put his hand on her head and petted her like a small animal. A lifetime ago, he’d owned a neurotic dog which would panic until someone reassured the animal, and he hoped the little girl was the same.

“Little girl,” he said, confused, “I treated your sickness. Why are you screaming?”

She merely screamed more but did not resist his hand. Perhaps he’d brought up some sort of trauma? That would be a mistake, though not as bad as letting her disease worsen her condition. He would have to tread carefully around this girl.


	3. Rising of the Shield Hero/3

The Shogun sat on a bed next to his new raccoon recruit. She was asleep and would stay asleep as long as he kept stroking her head. He didn’t think a metal gauntlet was comfortable but it stopped her yelling so he kept doing it. He discovered that very night the little girl was plagued with nightmares and had to be regularly reassured she was safe to make sure she slept. To amuse himself while she slept he plotted out hypotheticals, thinking which kind of weapon would best suit her, how to properly drill her in basic mortal fighting techniques, and other mental challenges involving turning her into a skilled fighter. Yet this was a great deal of guesswork. His duties to the Lion focused upon animating undead and necromantic war machines; the training of his forces fell to others. The occasional time he’d watched their drills, it involved a frankly concerning amount of torture and he wasn’t sure what purpose that served beyond teaching the unfortunate victim to fear their superiors. 

He knew of no way to treat an illness of the mind. He could draw disease forth from the body, if she were missing a limb he could craft a beautiful replacement from articulated bone, and he could probably implant a big sword in her arms if she needed it, yet treating mental trauma was beyond him. Inflicting it, yes he could force someone to behold Oblivion and send them mad from the revelation or even drive someone to suicide by breaking their will to live, but that would be entirely counterproductive. A skillset revolving around innovative ways to terrorise mortals, conquer Creation and plunge it into Oblivion was entirely unhelpful here. Faint memories, more than eighty years old, told the Shogun children liked stuffed animals. Perhaps he could get one for her. Just not a dog.

The sun crawled above the horizon, slowly lightening the world once again. Not long after, his slave woke up. Introductions were in order. It was the polite thing to do.

“I am the Shogun of Death’s Black Legions. You can me the Shogun. Most people do. What is your name?”

“Raphtalia” she squeaked, trying her best not to look at him.

The Shogun stood up and took a significant amount of bed and blanket with him. The spikes and blades adorning his armour might look scary but they sure were annoying to deal with. 

“Get up.” he commanded, “You need to eat, don’t you?”

After carefully untangling himself from the linens, he lead the little girl downstairs to the common room for breakfast.

The little girl carefully ate her breakfast with trembling hands. Across the table, a giant armoured warrior sat steepling his fingers and staring intensely at her. Nothing but darkness could be seen through the vision slits, yet she felt as if a pair of eyes were boring straight into her skull. He had not moved an inch nor spoke since sitting down. From time to time, a screaming face flickered upon the surface of his armour before being swallowed by the horrible darkness. She did not even want to imagine what sort of wicked thoughts were running through his mind and dreaded what he had in store for her. He was most certainly a far crueller monster than her past owner.

At the other side of the table, the Shogun racked his brains harder than they’d ever been racked in his life. He knew almost every way to force obedience through dread augmented with occasionally making examples out of someone’s entire family tree, but he was supposed to be a hero and heroes generally don’t do that kind of thing. Which meant he had to try to motivate this little girl some other way. For instance, seeing getting her to see him as a big friendly giant rather than a withered undying abomination spiritually welded to a suit of armour crafted from souls sentenced to eternal suffering and alloyed with the nightmare-ores of dead gods sent to wage war upon the living and plunge Creation into the pure nonexistence of Oblivion. The problem was that he couldn’t just sit with her and have a nice meal. He knew if he tried eating something it would come right back up within the hour and straight into his helmet. Not making that mistake again.

“So,” he said to break the silence, “been coughing lately??”

The little girl squeaked and frantically shook her head, saying nothing. Under his helmet the Shogun frowned. Already out of ideas he simply said nothing more. He watched as she finished her meal and commanded her to follow him again. It was time to arm her.

With Raphtalia shadowing his imposing figure, he confidently strode through the streets of the city, doing his best to cover up the fact he still hadn’t the faintest idea where anything was. In fact, he was hoping to stumble upon a sign or something soon. Most people scurried out of his way the minute they noticed him, not that noticing him was particularly difficult. A few people glanced at his shield and then gave him a dirty look. The Shogun pretended not to notice but made a mental note of this. It seemed like the Shield Hero already had a terrible reputation long before they summoned a deathknight. He tried to stop a few people to ask for directions but they all chose to flee when the Shogun bore down upon him. The Shogun started sweating, beginning to worry he’d be wandering around the city all day, when he suddenly noticed a sign for a smith of some kind. He made sure to knock politely before entering the shop, hoping to make a positive impression.

A humble blacksmith was conducting an inventory check of his shop when a terrible banging at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Before he could answer, a gigantic dark knight barged in, practically crawling on his knees to avoid his monstrous horns and spines adorning his plate from gouging out the doorframe. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but he swore he saw a screaming face reflected in his breastplate for just a moment, then it vanished.

“Give this little girl a weapon. Please.” the man commanded in a chillingly deep tone, and he ushered in a little raccoon girl with dead eyes who barely even reached his knee. The blacksmith scratched his head as he tried to make sense of the situation. Still, he wasn’t one to turn down a customer, no matter how strange he looked.

“Okay.” the blacksmith said and began to lead her around the weapon section.

“Ah, make sure it’s an edged weapon.” the Shogun clarified. He was trying to be this world’s hero, but if he ever needed to go back on that he’d rather his subordinates equipped with weapons that made for more salvageable corpses. A man who died of stabbings or a severed limb was much easier to turn into a zombie than one with shattered bones and pulped flesh. Not even worth trying to piece all the little bone fragments back together.

After another bout of haggling, Raphtalia now had a shortsword and it was time to lead her out of the city into some fields to grind her levels up. Almost immediately after entering a zone full of monsters, a balloon leapt out at the Shogun, which he caught with contemptuous ease. He was about to hand it over to Raphtalia to kill when an idea struck him. His armour, welded on to his soul and effectively fused to him, might not qualify as a weapon. He grabbed the balloon and stabbed it on to one of the armour spikes. It bounced off and suffered scratch damage identical to just punching it. But the warning about using other weapons did not appear. At least he learnt something. He held the balloon out to Raphtalia and she stabbed it until it exploded. A message popped up awarding them both a single point of XP. He had something of a functional team here at last.

The next balloon he grabbed and bit deep into. It tasted like rubber and needed quite a few bites to kill, but at least he could sense that he was still able to devour its life for vital Essence. Assuming he could latch on to his foe’s neck… it might be worth a try. He wasn’t sure but biting through someone’s jugular was probably life-threatening in this world too. He made another mental note to try this out on a living creature.

The Shogun thought it was time to try desensitising her to a brush with Oblivion. If he were to seriously throw down the dark miracles of the Black Exaltation, sooner or later his anima would blaze totemic and mortals witnessing it could be driven mad from the sight of Oblivion. Better to get her used to it now than have her freak out in the middle of a serious battle.

“Hey,” he said to get her attention, “Look at this.”

Suddenly, his body erupted in a swirl of greys and ethereal greens, a massive bonfire reaching several feet in height. And everywhere the flames touched withered and rotted as months of decay passed in seconds. A black brand in the shape of a setting sun appeared above his eyes on his helmet and blazed with green flame as blood gushed forth from it and ran down his body. One part of the ethereal display coalesced into the shape of a lengthy, studded with spikes of metal, rotting down to the bone where it pierced its scales. Its many limbs were lashed with metal chains, which lead down to the Shogun’s neck and wrists, terminating in ethereal shackles. The ghostly dragon thrashed wildly, silently snarling as it struggled to break itself free from the chains binding it down.

Raphtalia simply crouched down low, covered her eyes and screamed. And started vomiting. Well. Maybe she wouldn’t react as badly next time, the Shogun hoped. Although he may have just added to her nightmares. He gave her some time to finish panicking and clean herself up before resuming their hunting.

By the end of the day, the team had slain dozens of balloons and levelled up twice. Their drops were borderline worthless, but still better than nothing. The Shogun had even stitched some of them together into a ball that a popup window helpfully called a “Dread Abyssal Bouncy Ball” and let Raphtalia play with it for a bit. It took her a bit to get used to the intricate and mildly disturbing grave-decorations that had mysteriously appeared across the surface the minute the Shogun stopped sewing, but it seemed to cheer her up a lot on the way back to the inn.

Like this, they settled into a rhythm. Every day they would wake, hunt creatures to kill and harvest the body. He had fortunately avoided traumatising the little girl any more and eventually Raphtalia stopped having such terrible nightmares. She apparently had finally got it out of her system. Freeing up the evening meant the Shogun devote that time to training himself in the arts of the dead.


	4. Rising of the Shield Hero/4

A couple weeks had passed. Many levels were gained but Raphtalia’s transformation was most severe. It appeared her race matured fast when powerlevelling and it was not long before she had grown to adulthood. Growing ever more wilful as time passed, she demanded to wear her own lighter plate; little more than armour across her torso, joints and forearms. To this the Shogun acquiesced for he saw no harm there. Yet she had also insisted upon mounting razor-sharp spikes in her pauldrons and vambraces, and would not be deterred by the Shogun gently explaining the impracticality of such things. He did not know what inspired such mimicry, yet finally agreed in the end. So it was that his companion also became a menace to stray linens. 

Aside from her questionable choice in clothing, Raphtalia had quickly turned into a dependable and dangerous swordswoman, and also one with a natural aptitude for stealth. The Shogun knew now why the Neverborn had lead him to her. In another world, she would have potential as a Day Caste Abyssal. Yet she still had not recovered from her trauma. The nightmares were gone, but she still sometimes trembled and went distant, perhaps reliving some horrible past moment. And that is why he was making a business visit to the mansion of Raphtalia’s former owner. A nobleman and the one who had tortured her friend to death and Raphtalia into near-catatonia. It was time to bury her past.

The gate guards stood motionless. Terror paralysed them. They knew instinctively that the huge warrior striding towards them carried certain death, and like a night terror could not move even as their every nerve cried out to run, to scream for help, for something. One braver than his peers tried to speak, tried to step forwards, tried to warn someone but in that very moment he felt icy claws gently clutch his heart. He could not misunderstand that threat. He said nothing, moved not an inch as the Shogun broke the lock upon the gate with a touch and let himself in. Even after the soft clank of metal faded away neither of them could muster up the courage to say a word. 

Inwards, the Shogun was gleeful. He had held a metaphorical blade to their throats and the Shield had said nothing. There were several potential explanations, perhaps the Shield had not recognized it as an attack as it had not harmed them, or best of all, perhaps it did not recognise anything that didn’t rely on grasping a weapon such as magic or more subtle Essence manipulations as a violation of the covenant. This could be very promising.

He entered the doorways to the mansion, finding it unlocked - presumaby the guards were meant to ward away intruders. From the minute he entered, he was struck with a garish and obnoxiously tacky look. This nobleman liked his things in vibrant colours and gilded, even when it clashed spectacularly. The Shogun also felt the cloying aura of death running thick through the mansion, so thick that only the utter lack of the Underworld in this world kept it from being a shadowland. He already had directions to the nobleman’s room, yet he hardly needed them. Only two routes were this thick with death; one leading down to the dungeons and the other leading above.

The nobleman was in a room with a window overlooking the back of his mansion. He clearly had not heard a word about the intruder. Yet the door creaked as the Shogun entered the room, and it was enough to alert the man, who jumped when he saw who was sneaking around his mansion.

“You’re the Shield Demon!” the fat man shrieked “What are you doing here?”

The nobleman was shaken, but not paralysed by dread. Perhaps he was stronger than the others, perhaps he was surprisingly brave.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the Shogun said, waving a hand in an attempt to be reassuring, “On my honour as a knight. Not a hair on your head.”

The nobleman was hardly reassured, but before he could challenge that statement he suddenly screamed again, even higher pitched this time and whirled around. Raphtalia had climbed through the window and scored a direct hit on his back. As he panicked and scrabbled for a weapon, she stabbed him over and over again until he keeled over. She stabbed him a few more times, then kicked him for good measure. The Shogun simply watched. True to his word, he did not harm a single hair on the nobleman’s head. He was the distraction. 

“The fastest way to grow is to kill the people who hold you back” He Who Holds In Thrall once told him. At least, there seemed to be an element of truth to it. Raphtalia seemed to carry herself higher, stand a little taller now. Perhaps he should have her murder more people. The Shogun was certain there was no shortage of people who had once wronged her. Perhaps she could find closure.

Yet the Shogun felt he had questions that needed answering. Like a hungry raiton he swooped down, accidentally bowling Raphtalia over, and grasped the dead noble’s head in his hand. Ephemeral shadows swirled around his palm as he infused the cadaver with just enough dead Essence to grant it a limited semblance of life. Just enough to answer some questions.

“You called me the Shield Demon.” the Shogun interrogated, “Why?”

“Because…” it gasped back in a stuttering parody of speech as Raphtalia squeaked and recoiled from the noble’s cadaver like she’d been stung, but the Shogun paid no attention to her, “you are the Shield Demon.”

“Yes, but why am I called the Shield Demon?” The Shogun asked in a slightly annoyed tone.

“Church doctrine. Three Holy Heroes. One Shield Demon.”

Ah, the church, the Shogun thought. He still hadn’t visited one for the exact reason that he’d read that the church of this land possessed holy weapons. He’d only encountered holy powers a couple times in his homeworld, but both experiences were exceptionally unpleasant. Holiness tended to make him catch fire or crumble into ashes, so he avoided anyone who might be able to throw it around. It was a distinctly unpleasant sensation. If they were slandering him it might be worthwhile to pay them a visit. In any case, he had some business to finish here first.

The Shogun let the Essence imbuing the nobleman’s corpse with a limited false-life and looked over at Raphtalia who for some reason was still looking at the nobleman’s corpse as if it would rise again as one of the hungry dead. The Shogun made a soon-to-be-forgotten mental note to teach her about his power to question the deceased.

“Let’s search the mansion for anything interesting, but be ready to burn it.”

“Burn it?” Raphtalia questioned.

”It is only proper to burn offerings to the departed.” He conveniently forgot to add that this was unnecessary in this world and that he just didn’t like the look of the mansion.

Though while Raphtalia ransacked the mansion, he could not help but be curious as to the other source of a thick miasma of death. Underneath the mansion. He recalled the visions the Neverborn had showed him of what went on down there. Here he saw a someone with the ears of a dog, or perhaps a wolf (it was rather hard to tell the difference when people only carried some of their traits) chained up against a wall.

“Oh,” he said, looking at the dog-person ‘another one’, he thought but knew better than to say. He touched the cell door, causing cracks to break out all over the metal that glowed with a sickly green internal light. Within a second, the door simply crumbled away to the ashes of the Underworld. The dog-boy did not even look his way, in fact if it were not for his steady breathing the Shogun would have been convinced he was dead. He entered the cell and did the same thing to the chains holding the dog-boy to the wall and he simply collapsed to the ground.

Suddenly, the Shogun was nearly bowled over by Raphtalia rushing past him. She immediately began blabbering mortal things like ‘I missed you’, and ‘I’m so glad you’re alive’. Since it seemed those two knew each other, the Shogun decided to duck out for a little while. His presence tended to cause misunderstandings. Fearing bungling yet another first-ish impression, the Shogun racked his brains for how mortals reassured each other.

“I am the Shogun of Death’s Black Legions and the Shield Hero of this world,” he thundered in a voice carrying the dread inevitability of the grave, “I am here to help.”

The Shogun thought he saw doubt flicker across the face of the young child. These judgemental mortals were growing tiresome. It was true that the Shadows of the Abyss were among the last people likely to help anyone but the mortals of this realm shouldn’t know that. And he wasn’t going to tell them either. Suppressing his natural instinct to strangle the child and make an example of him for all who might dare to doubt his words, he continued.

“Your dear-” and under the helmet his face contorted as he tried to guess their prior relationship “- love interest” and at this he could almost feel Raphtalia’s shock radiating from behind him but continued “serves me now. Your former master is dead. I offer you this choice: Serve me too, and I will cast you into the crucible of war. Or you may leave, taking your freedom and nothing else.”

‘It’s fun to be on the other end of this sales pitch’, the Shogun thought to himself.

“Will you make me strong?” Keel asked.

Under his helmet, the Shogun smiled and let a warm tone creep into his voice.

“Enough to get revenge on anyone who ever wronged you.”

A party of three left a blazing mansion that day.


	5. Interquel 1: The First Class-Up

It was a beautiful field with rolling hills, picturesque green grass and not a single cloud in the brilliant blue sky. It was the perfect day and place for a hunt. Another monster dropped dead. This one was a strange shark that swam through the air like it was water. The Shogun would wrestle it (something that required only the most basic martial arts skills) and immobilise its limbs or jaws, trusting in both his undeathly vitality, soulsteel plating and natural armour boosts from his shield to keep him safe. Meanwhile, his two companions would stab the shit out of it. If they encountered several monsters at once, the tactic would change, but when dealing with a single boss monster, it was terribly effective. The Shogun had gained his forty-second level recently. All the shields he’d unlocked were providing passive stat boosts and his abilities were vastly better than that of a non-hero of the same level, yet still clustered around defensive stats. He had found almost no shields giving boons to his attack power and so even the soulsteel spines adorning his carapace did almost comically small amounts of damage to his foes. He would focus upon supernaturally terrifying the enemy to death and wrestling them.

“Excuse me,” Raphtalia suddenly said, “But I’ve hit level cap.”

The Shogun nodded. He’d been expecting that and, true to form, his party screen told him as much. Poor Keel had only hit level 12. That was the problem with joining a party late. The Shogun scoured the surroundings, but he saw nothing worth fighting.

“Get ready to move,” the Shogun commanded, “We’re heading to the dragon hourglass.”

In the day, they walked together. At night, he picked up one in each arm and carried them while they had an uncomfortable sleep. Fortunately, they had both grown used to these nighttime marches and could get enough sleep to survive on from them. Thanks to this, they were able to cross rather large distances in a short period of time and returned to the capital quite fast.

In the royal capital there was a grand cathedral with a very visible symbol of a sword, a spear, and a bow. No shield. This made the Shogun’s bad feeling about the church grow even stronger and once again he resolved to have a chat with whoever was in charge of theology here. At least this cathedral were one of the few places where the doors were tall enough for the Shogun to walk through without ducking or practically crawling. He rather liked that. He was almost beginning to miss the Thousand, where at least everything was sized to the Lion and he had no need to duck every few steps.

Striding in to the grand church, he saw a few people around in the robes of holy men and women. They immediately fell silent upon noticing he entered and stared. Finally, one of them mustered up the courage to walk over to him. A woman with dark brown hair.

“Welcome to the Church of the Three Heroes,” she said in a warm tone that barely hid a quaver, “What brings the Shield De- Hero here?”

That word again. The Shogun frowned as best he could under his helmet but chose to ignore it this time.

“We’re here to class up at the hourglass.” he said flatly. “Please do not interfere.”

“Ah,” the woman said, growing paler, “I’m afraid, you see, royal order… Pope approves…”

The Shogun stared at her, waiting for her to construct a coherent sentence. She withered under his gaze and looked like she was made out of purest marble, but finally straightened up a little bit.

“We’re not allowed to let you access the Dragon Hourglass. I’m sorry.” the woman finally finished.

“Do you really think you can stop the Chosen of Oblivion?” the Shogun asked, letting his voice thrum with raw supernatural power. 

The lights bled away, as if each source of illumination had turned into a guttering candle and cast everyone in the room in a dim pale turquoise. The lengthy shadows they cast and sent dancing around the room sometimes reflected not just the people but other, strange beasts from the forgotten nightmares of some slumbering titan. Blood dripped down the columns as twisting smoke erupted from cracks in the stones, carrying with them the scent of damp earth mixed with the aroma of decay. An unnatural chill wind started swirling around the Shogun and the woman as innumerable voices from far off whispered prayers in the glossolalia loved by the servants of the Neverborn. And through it all, the Shogun seemed to grow taller until his horns almost scraped the ceiling and his cloak became a great veil of shadows that swirled around him as innumerable silently screaming faces appeared upon his armour.

“Stand aside, mortal.” he commanded in a voice as hollow as an empty tomb and echoing like the clanging of funeral bells, and the very stones seemed to shudder. Her companions had all vanished, yet she did not move. Face pale, hands trembling, sweat pouring off her body, but not a step taken away from him. She reached up to touch a holy symbol around her neck, but with a crack it crumbled into dust. Beads of blood appeared on her forehead and mixed in with the sweat.

“I can’t let you.” the woman said in a small voice.

Like a spell had been broken, the light burst back to normal and the Shogun snapped back to his previous height. Were it not for the drying blood running down the columns it was as if the last few moments never happened.

“So be it,” the Shogun said, before letting a touch of humour creep into his voice, “I would hate to cause any trouble for an institution as holy and noble as the Church. Raphtalia, Keel. We’re leaving.”

He turned with a flourish and strode out, ignoring how he accidentally made his cloak slap Raphtalia in the face. He would apologise for that later. As they returned to the street, Keel ran up next to him as if he had something very important to share.

“We coulda just pushed past her,” Keel said, “Looked like she was about to faint.”

The Shogun said nothing. He was too busy wrestling with the feelings that mortal’s bravery had given him. Up until now, he hadn’t met anyone who could withstand the raw terror of the Void…

“Hey!” Raphtalia yelled and grabbed at his arm, shaking the Shogun out of his thoughts, “I still need to class up you know!”

Under his helmet, the Shogun gave what passed for a smile.

“And you shall.” he replied in a deadly serious tone. That night he had Raphtalia sneak in without anyone the wiser. Thus did she gain her class upgrade and his party avoided tearing apart anyone from the Church. For now.


	6. Rising of the Shield Hero/5

“It is time.” the Shogun stated. His shield was warning him: The first wave was almost upon them. He looked around at his companions. Stopping the waves was what he was here for, not accidentally terrorising a little girl or having an obese torturer killed. He looked over at Raphtalia. She caught his gaze and nodded sharply, grasping her sword tightly. Aside from gaining a few more levels, she had barely changed from last time. The Shogun looked over at Keel next. He was still a young boy, a little taller but barely, as he had not been levelled up fast enough to rapidly grow to adulthood like Raphtalia did. He was joining in the corpse-decoration too. His clothes had been switched out for greys and blacks with spikes studded in them and bone adornments. The Shogun did not understand these mortals. As the living they did not need to shroud themselves in the raiments of death’s trappings to exist comfortably under the harsh judgement of the sun. Yet they did anyway.

The timer ran out. A feeling of vertigo overcame him as they were transported to the site of the new Wave. The three of them arrived outside another village in a grassland surrounded by some hills. The sky had turned an odd, almost purplish-red hue and a thick buzzing filled the air. Waves upon waves of monsters filled both sky and ground as they swarmed towards the village. The monsters attacking the village could be split into two broad groups. On the ground were undead, from skeletons up until huge ogre-like zombies. In the air were insectoid creatures that resembled gigantic locusts. It was almost like the vision the Shogun had seen of Raphtalia’s village burning playing out. 

“Look!” Raphtalia said, pointing off into the distance. The other Heroes and what the Shogun believed were their parties were running in the same direction as the source of the monsters. It would seem their priority was to end it no matter the cost. It was a cold, but fair, calculation. Eliminating the source of the danger may guarantee faster resolution to the wave. If they could stomach sacrificing a village full of innocents.

The Shogun could join them, and certainly bring the Wave to a quick conclusion, but something stopped him. Something deep inside him said that he should not settle for a lesser victory. The long buried urge for heroics, twisted and inverted by the magics of the Deathlords and the Neverborn, called out to him to make a stand, to save both the village and end the wave. It told him that one of the Chosen should not accept a partial victory.

He looked at Raphtalia, whose violet eyes flicked back and forth between the parties of the heroes and the village. Her gaze was wide and her pupils frantic in darting. In this moment, the Shogun made his mind up. She opened her mouth to say something but the Shogun cut her off.

“We save the village.” he said, “Then we end the wave. Go.”

Raphtalia’s face slackened as the panic drained away from her features. She made a quick nod and gestured to Keel, then the two of them darted across the grassland to the village. Now, the Shogun was free to focus. He could not help but internally sneer at the undead pouring from the wave. Little more than zombies and a few big zombies. Almost none of the dead were ever a serious threat to the Chosen of the Void, and this rabble was so uninspiring it barely qualified for something an amateur necromancer would bring up in the field. To throw the mindless undead at an Abyssal Exalted was akin to trying to drown the ocean. This would be over quicker than expected.

The Shogun suddenly remembered a former Daybreak coworker, who went by the title Weaver of Nightmares, chanced on far more interesting weapons. By having fertile women repeatedly impregnated and forced to give birth, she would gather up a steady supply of infant souls to be soulforged and woven with their bones into human-shaped abominations bristling with blades and spines. Then the mothers were harvested and their ghosts were used to both power and direct the machines. Driven mad by suffering, they would rampage until finally destroyed or the last soul was utterly exhausted. That was a creative strike force, and one he would definitely not like to face. Right up until an unfortunate accident claimed the Weaver of Nightmares. Someone forgot to properly check their bindings before a maintenance cycle and she was rent limb from limb.

Enough reminiscing. He mentally ran through his collection of necromantic spells, seeking for something to use here. True to form, staggeringly few of them would help the village at all and quite a few would probably slaughter everyone inside with ease or unleash a fate so horrifying that they would beg for death. Largely out of ideas, he gestured his two companions to attack the locusts while he focused upon the zombies. The Shogun fixed his will upon the walking dead. Insubstantial shadows and ethereal green flames erupted from his body as his anima blazed into unlife. The mark of his caste burned bright upon his forehead and dripped blood down his helmet. The horde of dead slowed their advance upon the village, then halted as their limited intellect was subsumed under the authority of a master of the dead.

“You obey me now.” the Shogun said in a carrying voice. “Protect the mortals. Kill the bugs.”

Leading a small army of the walking dead, the Shogun strode confidently into the village. Despite him calling out to the villagers that they were on their side, the civilians still cowered from the armoured warrior burning with a deathly glow almost as much as they did the locusts trying to strike them. He ignored their feelings. It was better than the torches and pitchforks. Locusts swarmed around him as he strode through inexplicably burning houses. Nobody had brought even a single flame (his flared anima did not count) that could set the village on fire. Was there a candle warehouse around here? 

One locust flew down to attack him, but he easily parried it with the shield. It was finally becoming useful. He snatched it out of the air, his faceplate swinging open to reveal savage fangs, bit deep into it and drained it of unidentifiable disgusting insect fluid. It barely restored his reserves of Essence. He tossed the lifeless husk aside and caught another one out of the air, repeating consuming the vital fluids of many bugs until he’d built up a decent buffer. 

In time, the efforts of both the Shogun’s party and the tireless zombies who swarmed to claim the life of living creatures struck down the last of the bugs. Breathing room had been won, and the Shogun turned his gaze upon the villagers. No deaths, which was surprising to that Abyssal. It was very uncharacteristic of Deathknights. The same supernatural vision that once examined cadavers for critical injuries preventing easy reanimation now probed the living for grievous injuriess. Each wound was pitilessly analyzed with detail impossible to mundane sight. Nothing life-threatening. The Shogun saw no need to intervene. Some mental trauma. By now he knew he really shouldn’t try to treat that. Raphtalia and Keel both came forth from the village, having scouted around for more monsters and found none, and then fell in behind the Shogun as he turned to the undead he formerly lead. 

“Halt!” the Shogun said, and the undead froze in place. “Kneel.” And as they bowed down before him, the Shogun turned to his two companions, “Kill them all.” 

A small jolt of panic seized him as he thought how his former circle would take the order. He threw up his left arm and blocked the both of his companions with the shield. “The undead only. Spare the villagers.” he said in the firmest tone he could muster. The moment passed and the tension within him dissipated. He became painfully aware of his companions’ confused look, but simply brushed it off and walked away towards the source of the Wave. He had more important things right now.

He quickly reached a hill overlooking where the Wave had come from. There below him, the other hero parties were struggling with a chimera creature, but he was not interested in them right now. His gaze was fixed upon the source of the Wave. What was unmistakably a portal. He did not even need supernatural sight to tell him what he was looking at. The monsters were coming from another world, that much was obvious. If this was simply a connection between two worlds, they could be sealed off. And if these worlds were crashing together, they could be forced apart. Even now, the gears of his mind, the brilliant obsidian machinery that once made him so valuable to the Lion, were turning as he processed this information and begun to think of solutions.

The Shogun was suddenly jolted out of his thoughts by his party catching up to him.

“They’re gone, Shogun sir.” Raphtalia said, a little out of breath.

“Are we gonna help those guys?” Keel said, looking down at the battle between the other parties and the boss.

“No. Watch.” was all the Shogun said.

The Shogun did not want to intervene. If they looked like they would stumble on the first step he would direct his companions to take action, but first he needed to analyse their teams. Though they would spend most of their time apart, the four heroes had to work completely together in the waves and this wave was the first time he had an opportunity to analyze his allies. Which meant he had to make sure the other four could be relied upon in battle.

The chimera they found dropped dead. But the Shogun was very unhappy with what he’d seen. The pretty faces on Motoyasu’s team were barely holding their own. Ren’s team had no coordination. Itsuki was deliberately pulling his punches and only loosing arrows to save people and seem heroic. It would seem the others needed the Shogun’s personal guidance.

Motoyasu noticed them watching and waved. The Shogun turned around and ignored him, facing his two companions even as the last of his anima receded back into his body.

“Did you learn anything?” he asked.

Keel shook his head but Raphtalia chimed up.

“The Heroes seem a little… overconfident, maybe? They don’t look like they’re taking it seriously.”

The Shogun nodded.

“I think we have even more work to do.” he said darkly.


	7. Rising of the Shield Hero/6

The Shogun hated parties. Had he the option, he would have gladly refused to come. Had the king’s men not informed him it was compulsory to attend lest he forfeit the rewards for closing the wave he would have sent a polite, yet firm letter refusing the invitation. Yet the ever-frugal eye upon his finances told him the rewards was worth a night of boredom with a side of frustration. And so he stood in a corner watching the party with disinterest.

Around him, the party whirled with the typical chatter and veiled threats of the powerful and delusional, yet they simply ignored the monstrous Shield Hero. Servants brought forth plates laden high with steaming hot food were brought out and set upon the great tables. The Shogun largely ignored it. Unless someone was nice enough to bring out a big bowl of blood he couldn’t enjoy the feast. Yet mortals rarely consumed fresh, warm blood and so he did not expect to see it here. Memories of witnessing another Abyssal sentence his butler to death by scourging for bringing his morning coffee lukewarm and carrying it out personally floated to the Shogun’s mind. It did motivate the butler to work harder in the future and was quite merciful by the standards of the Abyssal Exalted. Reforming one’s corpus was significantly easier than coming back from getting soulforged.

The Shogun shook his head. He had to stop spending so much time reminiscing. He hadn’t even noticed the reclusive Ren wander over to him and stand right next to him.

“You know,” Ren said abruptly, “Every time I see you I feel like you should be going,” and he took a moment to cover his mouth and begin wheezing as if he was trying to make some kind of “shh khh, shh khh” noise.

“What?” the Shogun replied, struggling to make sense of that abrupt comment. He assumed Ren was referencing some kind of breathing problem but he couldn’t imagine what would give him that impression. The Shogun’s soulsteel carapace was fastened to his bones and welded to his soul, not his lungs. If he meant puncturing a lung with the metal drilled through his ribcage, that just seemed pointlessly spiteful which, admittedly, made it likely the Lion had contemplated it at least once. Fortunately his sadism stopped at forcing the Shogun to be conscious for the whole procedure.

“Nevermind.” Ren said after a brief pause before gesturing at his breastplate, “Anyway, I wanted to ask: How’d you get that anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“A few too many questions,” the Shogun replied, “Asking if certain necrosurgical excesses were necessary, asking if there isn’t a better way to make soulsteel, asking about his relationship with another Deathlord. The Lion,” and at this the Shogun gave a broad smile under his helmet, “doesn’t like questions.”

Ren nodded in the manner of those who obviously do not understand a thing but are trying to be sympathetic anyway.

“Listen,” the Shogun said, “I wanted to talk to you about-”

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a tremendously loud smacking noise. It sounded a bit like someone cracked a whip. Another one followed in short order. The entire room seemed to fall silent for a moment as everyone looked around for the source. There in one corner of the dining room, stood Motoyasu and Raphtalia. Motoyasu had both cheeks bright red and was frozen in place as if his brain was still trying to process something important.

The crowds almost unconsciously parted around the Shogun. Little surprise, as few people wished to have a close encounter with an eight foot tall giant covered in metallic spikes and surrounded with a faint, unnatural chill.

“Raphtalia,” he called out to her, and she whirled around shaking.

“Do you know what he just said?” Raphtalia replied, her voice oozing with barely suppressed rage, “He said ‘your dude’s obviously an evil monster who only looks a bit like a human’! And then! And then he said ‘You’re in danger every minute you spend around him; you should really think about changing teams’!”

‘Not exactly wrong’, the Shogun thought and very nearly said, but thought better of it. In fact, he was more surprised Raphtalia disagreed. This was a logical conclusion for mortals to reach in the presence of any Deathknight. Those who survived long enough to form any opinion of them, that was. Yet as she was, he half-expected her to start hissing at any moment. Raphtalia’s bushy tail was thrashing around and her fists were clenched so tight her arms were shaking. The Shogun suppressed the urge to grab her tail and see how she’d react. Instead, he turned his gaze to Motoyasu, who responded by raising his hands and trying a disarming smile. The Shogun’s disdain for the heroes grew a little greater.

“We can’t afford a fight now,” he whispered intensely, “You have to let go of it. The time for vengeance will come, but now we need everyone focused on ending the Waves and saving the world.”

“Are you just going to let him walk all over you?” Someone from the crowd shouted abruptly.

The Shogun looked over at the source. It was Myne, shoving her way through the gathered people. Her again. Out to cause more trouble. It was as if someone had specifically called her to the world just to cause trouble for everyone.

“That’s right!” Motoyasu yelled after a pause to gather his confidence, “Aren’t you going to answer for this?”

The Shogun paused and fixed him with a terrible gaze bearing more insight into Oblivion than any man should ever know. He turned pale but clutched his spear to his side as if he was preparing for a fight, and in this moment the Shogun knew he could not be terrified into submission. Perhaps when in front of a woman he wished to impress, Motoyasu would be genuinely fearless. The Shogun could use this, if he could direct it correctly…

“No,” he said in a dull, bored tone, “I have no interest in massaging your wounded pride tonight. We will speak again soon. Come, Raphtalia.”

At this he turned with a whirl, sending his cloak flapping behind him as he marched out. He almost sensed Motoyasu - or was it Myne - trying to start some more trouble with him, but he cloaked himself once more in the shadows of death and snuffed out all potential trouble in the terror of the dread inevitability of the grave. The random people crowding this event almost fell over themselves making a wide berth for him.


	8. Rising of the Shield Hero/7

Motoyasu awoke from a lovely sleep filled with dreams of huge breasted women craving his genitals. He was in a luxuriantly large bed in a room befitting a hero, gifted to him by King Aultcray Melromarc XXXII, in his own section of the castle decorated with fancy rugs, paintings and wide open spaces. It was the sort of day he just knew would be lovely and nothing at all would go wrong.

There was a knocking on his door. It had to be Myne come to visit him, he thought. Motoyasu imagined burying his head in those milk tanks of hers and blowing raspberries. It was so nice to get isekai’d into a game world without any crazy-ass bitches. He could build a harem of beautiful females without ever stabbed to death.

“Coming!” he called out, quickly throwing on some nice clothes he found lying around. With a spring in a step he almost danced to the door and tugged it open with a flourish.

“Helloooo-!” he started saying before suddenly recoiling as if he’d been stung, and he shrieked in a surprisingly feminine tone. It was not Myne at all. 

“Hello Motoyasu.” The Shogun said in a low drawl, crouching so that his eyes could be lower than the door frame. Motoyasu thought he felt a touch of humour in his tone. Of course a monster like him would laugh at the misery of another hero. 

A gentle breeze blew into the room, bringing with it the metallic reek of blood and fresh earth and dropping the temperature down several degrees. Motoyasu took a few steps back for clean air and to gather his thoughts.

“This isn’t about last night is it?” Motoyasu asked, “Because you know, I was being completely-”

“This is more important than your entertainingly terrible attempt at converting my minion.” the Shogun said flatly and then gestured towards the hallway, “Please. Walk with me. We have much to discuss.”

Motoyasu wanted to say many things, but in a rare moment where he tried to think, he decided to play along with the Shogun for now. So the Shield lead the Spear through the castle’s passages. Every crash of the Shogun’s armoured feet marching on the cobblestones echoed around them. Clank. Clank. Clank. Motoyasu idly wondered how the Shogun could bear all that noise. Finally, they reached the front entrance to the castle. The gates were open but guarded, though neither of them dared to interact with the heroes. Both guards visibly shuddered as they passed.

“It is about that woman you deal with.” the Shogun finally said as they merged with the crowd of people out on the city streets in the morning, “She is trouble.”

Motoyasu’s brain turned frantically trying to interpret that statement. He did, after all, associate with a lot of women. Finally, he asked “Which one?”

“Myne.” the Shogun answered without missing a beat. “The redhead.”

‘Oh.’ Motoyasu thought, before complete confusion overwhelmed him. Myne was a pure and good girl who, sure, sometimes annoyed people, but her heart was always in the right place. She swore with tears in her eyes she’d discover why members of his harem kept disappearing, after all.

“How do you know this?” Motoyasu asked.

“I can see into her heart like it is made of glass, and it is as empty as the Void. She is as capable of love as a common zombie is capable of writing a philosophy text.”

“Are you ‘looking into my heart’ right now?” Motoyasu shuffled a bit as no small amount of unease came over him. He would rather not have someone privy to the thoughts he thought about all the women around him. Those were for his private time only.

“That would not be easy.” At this the Shogun waved his hand dismissively sending his cloak fluttering out behind him and looked away into the sky, “The more life affirming someone is the harder it is to see their heart. Except how to break it, of course. You are much more attached to life. Perhaps too much on one aspect of it, but yes, far too much to lay your heart bare.”

“Okay,” Motoyasu replied, “That makes you sound worse. A lot worse. You know that, don’t you?”

“Naturally,” the Shogun said, returning his gaze to Motoyasu in full as his voice took on a feverish intensity, “I was brought back from the brink of death to make war upon the living, not to save them. The dead, those with desolate hearts, and those bearing the judgement of the Most High were my allies. I worked alongside and commanded alike many of those who had no room within them for positive feelings about anything not themselves. I know what they’re like.”

Motoyasu was silent for several moments. The impenetrable blackness behind the Shogun vision slits was unnerving. Not being able to see any facial expressions whatsoever was throwing him off.

“You like giving speeches, huh?” he finally said to break the tension.

“I’m pent up.” the Shogun replied in a mildly irritated tone, “There’s not a lot to talk about in the realms of the dead. Or experience. Or do. The world of the living is so much better designed. Mostly on account of it not being made as a side effect of breaking the cycle of reincarnation and all that.”

The Shogun made a noise that sounded like great slabs of stone grinding against each other. Motoyasu realised he was trying to clear his throat.

“Back on topic now, those people are always trouble. Even when they genuinely like you. Sometimes especially when they like you.”

“You can’t seriously be saying what I think you’re saying.”

“I am telling you to keep an eye on her.” The Shogun paused briefly for some inscrutable reason and shrugged with a mighty clanking before continuing. “She may genuinely want to help you, but she is up to no good. It would be wise to sever ties with her before something serious happens.”

“I…” Motoyasu said, “I don’t know. I’ll think about that, I guess.” 

“Good. Keep that in mind. Now, I have another thing to say too. I will be brief: Stop thinking with your genitals.”

“What?” The shock from this comment made Motoyasu stop walking and, after a brief moment, the Shogun stopped too and walked back in front of him.

“You are blatantly forming a harem out of the prettiest faces. Now there is nothing inherently wrong with that, it was common back home after all, but you are dangerously compromising your party’s effectiveness. I watched you in the last Wave and you were not bad. Your party was holding you back. You must make them better at their roles or find new ones.”

“You want me to act like my own companions are disposable?”

“They are. You see Motoyasu, to people like us, mortals are tools. You collect them, you use them until they’re worn out, and then when they’re no longer useful you find new ones. But they break easily, they wear out just with the passage of time, and if you get too attached to them…” the Shogun gave a lengthy pause, before his voice became laden with grief, “it will only hurt you. ” he finished.

“They’re my friends. I’m going to show you you’re wrong and make the best team in the world without subscribing to your dehumanising beliefs.” Motoyasu felt a stirring of emotion in his chest, the relentless drive to prove the Shogun’s cliche’d and evil ideology wrong, and show him that the power of true love would triumph.

“Good. I hope you succeed. I really do.” The Shogun clapped his hands together with a thunderous crash. The street briefly fell silent as people paused their walking and talking to see what was going on. Motoyasu seemed a little embarrassed, but the Shogun didn’t even seem to notice.

“Now,” the Shogun continued, bowing his head slightly, “Thank you for your time, Motoyasu. I must be going now. I wish to speak with the other heroes.”

At this the Shogun left not even waiting for Motoyasu’s reply. Watching the shadowy cloak and great spikes fade into the distance, Motoyasu felt internally in turmoil. Eventually, he left to return to the castle. And, of course, his beloved Myne.

\---

The sun hung high in the sky. It was almost midday. Itsuki had a lovely night of basking in the pure adoration of these simpletons at the castle who so very naturally recognised him as a great and noble hero come to save them all. Chief among them was Itsuki’s greatest and most loyal lieutenant, a nobleman named Mald who wore a suit of armour befitting a noble knight and happily sung Itsuki’s praises day and night. 

After such an impressive feast the night before that suited an isekai hero, Itsuki had gathered his loyal servants and told them that there was no time to rest. After a regimented breakfast, his servants practised with one another, although nobody dared to harm Itsuki’s august personage, and after an equally regimented lunch they made their way out of the city to go level grinding again.

At least, that was what they planned. There was unforseen trouble hanging around one of the gates, in the form of a huge armoured warrior festooned with spikes, bone, grey metal, and bearing a silvered shield that looked almost comical on the rest of him. That meddlesome Shogun was standing perfectly still, as if he’d been carved out of stone. Itsuki very nearly commanded his servants to turn and find another exit, but before the words could leave his mouth he saw the Shogun’s helmet turn and fix him with an eyeless stare.

“Why are you here?” Itsuki asked in an irritated tone, “Don’t you have a world to terrorise?”

“Pleased to meet you too.” the Shogun replied bowing his head slightly, before raising his right hand up to wag his finger, “And just for your information, terrorising the world was my last job. Not this one. They summoned me to save the world, and this job makes a much better sales pitch than that last one.”

Itsuki was about to give a witty response, the moment he thought of one anyway, but he was interrupted by Mald almost shoving his way past him and yelling.

“And for what reason does the Shield Demon think himself fit to speak with Sir Itsuki? A disreputable cur like yourself should be kneeling and honoured he gives you the time of day!”

The Shogun turned his head to face Mald with agonizing slowness, and to Itsuki, it seemed the air dropped a few degrees more and suddenly bore the thick miasma of menace. A second dragged out to a century as he raised his gauntlet up to Mald’s chest level, palm up and fingers in a tight clenching motion. Mald went as pale as a sheet and took a step back away.

“Don’t!” Itsuki yelled, rapidly drawing his bowstring back causing an arrow to appear in the bow, pointed directly at the Shogun.

“I wasn’t going to kill him,” the Shogun said coldly, letting his arm fall to his side as he turned to face Itsuki again.

“Just tell me what you’re here for and go away,” Itsuki relaxed the drawstring but still pointed his arrow right at the Shogun. Ready to draw back and loose at a moment’s notice.

“I am here to help you.” The Shogun spread his arms out and sent his furred cloak flapping in an excessively showy gesture, “You are a very inconsistent boy, Itsuki. You want to be a hero, so you deliberately hold back on helping people. In this, you put their lives at risk for short term glory. You must stop this behaviour. It puts the lives of your party at risk, and more importantly, it actively hampers your own ability to fight.”

Itsuki was struck dumb by the magnitude of these insults. He felt his rage come to an intense seething boil at the audacity of the Shogun accusing him of engineering his genuine heroism and unquestionable. His grip on his bow tightened so hard it shook and a mundane bow would shatter in his grasp.

“You’re lying!” he yelled feeling his face flush scarlet, “You have no proof. Why would you even come here to accuse me of such a thing?”

The Shogun stared deeply into Itsuki’s eyes, and to Itsuki it seemed the light of the sun bled away into a twilight haze. The dark grey metal of the Shogun’s armour turned several shades deeper and silently screaming faces appeared as if some tormented people were trapped beneath its surface. The darkness behind his vision slits seemed to take on an almost hypnotic quality. He could not muster the will to even think of looking away even as his dread and unease grew greater. He was a bug pinned under a lamp and he could neither fly nor crawl away. Flesh and bone seemed to fall away; void bore through him and laid his very soul bare. His arms fell slack, his arrow vanishing back into the air, but he did not notice it.

“Do not lie to me, Itsuki,” the Shogun said in a tone that carried a lurking undercurrent of menace, “You are far too transparent for that.” He then looked off into the distance and the spell was broken. “We’re on the same side, aren’t we?” the Shogun continued quietly.

Itsuki took several deep breaths. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding it. Emotion flooded back to him.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to come here and lecture me about how I do things. It works just fine for my team.” Fear had only slightly dulled the edge of Itsuki’s fury. “Get out! I really will shoot you if you don’t!”

“So be it.” the Shogun said slowly, then his voice hardened, “But next time I will not come to talk.”

He turned stiffly and strode off, nearly bumping Itsuki’s face with one of his arm spikes. As soon as Itsuki was sure the Shogun was gone he rushed over to Mald, who was grimacing and massaging at his chest.

“Are you okay?” Itsuki asked.

“Yeah,” Mald replied, wheezing slightly, “But that thing he did was awful. It was like being grabbed by icy claws.”

Itsuki looked over at the Shogun, vanishing into the crowd.

“We’ll get him back for this.” he said darkly.

\---

It was the last hours of light. The sun lay low in the sky, its edge barely touching the horizon. Already, the sky was turning shades of orange and red. And it was in this hour that Ren, Hero of the Sword, lurked within a nice tavern in the richer corner of the capital of this kingdom. The tavern was clearly rather used to guests of wealth and taste. A very expensive chandelier hung from the ceiling, shedding light from more than a dozen candles reflected around the room by a complex pattern of glass. The chairs were cushioned and made of what seemed like hardwood. Even the cutlery was finely wrought. Of course, Ren was sitting in the furthest corner away from the door so he could occasionally mysteriously look over all the patrons of the tavern.

Contrary to Ren’s usual gear, he had a hooded cloak drawn around his head to shroud his face in cool shadows, and was eyeing the other patrons of the tavern as they went about their evening. He’d just finished a dinner of roast pork and vegetables, prepared with what seemed like a bizarre fusion of modern Japanese cuisine and vaguely medieval European cookery. The more Ren thought of it the more it confused him, so he had given up trying midway through his dinner. This was a classic story where he got to travel to another world and become a great and powerful hero, he didn’t need to question it too hard. For now, he merely wanted to nurse a few mugs of ale and gaze mysteriously at the other patrons. The ale tasted like bitter ass but Ren was trying to force himself to like it and not pull faces every time a drop touched his tongue. Once again, Ren contemplated picking up the habit of smoking a long pipe, partly to murder his tastebuds.

Suddenly, with a thud, the front door was wrenched open and rattled almost hard enough to shake it off its hinges. The light of the setting sun streamed in and then almost immediately was blotted out by a great, dark shape. A great gust of icy wind followed with him, blowing hard enough to extinguish every candle and carrying the thick odour of blood and fresh earth. The door swung shut, and the tavern was plunged into dim-half light, only barely illuminated by the evening light peeking through the windows. 

Ren’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and he finally gained a good look at the visitor. He was a familiar figure, one clad from head to toe in grey metal plates, spikes and bone. His horned helm turned from side to side, vision slits focusing on each patron in turn, until his gaze wandered over to Ren. Slowly, boots clanking and thudding with every step, the ogre of a man strode over to Ren’s seat, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As he approached, his spiked shadow loomed deeply over the Hero of the Sword and blotted out the light of candles the serving staff were frantically trying to quickly relight.

“Hello, Ren.” the Shogun said.

“Hey mister Shogun,” Ren replied, “If it’s about your ring I think a band of midgets have it.”

There was a lengthy pause. Ren gave another long, internal sigh at another joke that flew right over the Shogun’s head. 

“It’s just Shogun, or the Shogun of Death’s Black Legions. No mister.” the Shogun said finally.

“Anyway, sit down!” Ren said to break the awkward silence settling down upon them, “It hurts my neck to look up at you.” 

The Shogun obliged, causing so much creaking from the poor chair it sounded as if it was about to collapse.

“Do you want something do drink?” Ren asked. He looked around the rest of the tavern, sure he could shout a drink or two.

“Do they serve fresh blood here?” the Shogun said.

“Ah,” Ren said, feeling extremely stupid, “I forgot, sorry.”

There was a great rattling as the Shogun shook his head slowly.

“Forget about it,” he said, “Anyway, I wanted to tell you I’m having a few concerns about your team and how you work together. How often do you fight alongside them?”

Ren slumped in his seat and said a lot of rude words internally. This was going to be one of those difficult conversations. He looked around the tavern, hoping for something to appear that would give him an excuse to abandon conversation, but there was nothing. Nothing but ordinary people trying to enjoy a nice dinner or indulge in crippling alcoholism with the faint undercurrent of nervous tension and occasional worried glances at the man across from Ren’s seat. Defeated, he returned his attention to the Shogun.

“Uh, never.” Ren mumbled, “I send them out to the best spots for powerlevelling and I let them do their thing.”

“So that last wave, that was the first time you worked together as a team?” the Shogun asked. Ren squirmed under his gaze.

“And where’s your team?” Ren suddenly said.

The Shogun chuckled darkly.

“Out training while I talk with you,” he said, “But I shall return to fighting besides them soon.”

Ren gave a mirthless laugh too, powered by the great tension tangling up inside him. After it died down the Shogun continued his questioning.

“Now, please tell me this,” he said, “is there any reason you avoid fighting together?”

Ren squirmed, shifting in his seat and fidgeting with his mug, feeling a terrible gaze focus upon him from behind those dark vision slits. For a moment, he almost feared the Shogun could see into his mind, but dismissed that as foolish paranoia.

“I’m not good with people.” Ren finally said, quietly.

“Oh.” said the Shogun, his uncertainty transparent, “Well, try being good with people.”

Ren sighed internally. It took all his willpower to not roll his eyes.

“Yeah sure, I’ll try” he said.

“You seem insincere.” the Shogun replied, not missing a beat.

Ren smacked his hand on the table, causing the cutlery to jump in place.

“You don’t understand,” he said, dredging up bitterness from places even he wasn’t sure, “None of you ever understand. I just, I just want to be alone. I like it. It’s so much better than constantly hanging on edge around everyone else. It’s quiet, I can get shit done, and I don’t need to entertain people. I just want to work by myself, okay?”

“So be it.” the Shogun said. He suddenly stood up, sending his seat skidding backwards. He half turned to leave, when he suddenly focused back on Ren.

“We all need to make sacrifices,” the Shogun said, leaning down to put his helm at Ren’s eye height “I choose to solve the Waves the way of this world, not the Deathknight way, for it would save the world at the cost of all who live in it. You will need to make a similar choice. You cannot have it both ways. You too are responsible to your team, for as long as you cannot stop the waves alone. There must be compromise.”

The Shogun finally left, leaving Ren to ruminate on his words as he slipped out the door and vanished, causing the foul scents and cold winds he brought to vanish too.

\---

The last ray of sunlight had vanished behind the horizon as the Shogun of Death’s Black Legions marched across the countryside. In the blackness of night, his vision was as clear as day. The cold of the night air was finally beginning to rival the biting chill he oft brought with him. Armoured boots thudded dully against the smooth, worn dirt, and from time to time soulsteel studs burst free from the soles to bite into a loose piece of earth, offering stability where one might slide. The Shogun neither noticed nor would he care, for his mind was occupied with the conundrum of turning the other heroes into an effective force.

Normally, he’d have the worst performing one killed to motivate the others, but that was dangerous in this situation. Still, he had other motivational methods up his sleeves. The first one that came to mind was selecting one of their companions at random and forcing the hero to watch the Shogun hook their soul out of their body, hammer it into malleable hopelessness and forge it into a new weapon for them to wield against the Waves, forced to know that their old companion was stuck in an unending nightmare without any way to save them from the horrible fate.

But that carried its own problems. The Shogun had no source of Labyrinth-ore to alloy the tortured ghostly plasm with, nor did he have a workshop safe from the light of the sun possessing soulfire crystals and pyre flame in abundance. He also had his suspicions that hammering a ghost until it consented to smelting into metal to save itself from further punishment would qualify as wielding a weapon and his shield would object to that. Perhaps if he whacked the ghost with his shield a few times…

No, that plan had to be shelved for impracticality. If he got longer than a month between the Waves, he could probably taint some irrelevant corner of this world with the essence of death and turn it into his base, but for now that was a pipe dream.

He could see a dim and flickering orange glow in the distance, and a thin trickle of smoke stretching towards the horizon. As he approached, it formed into a pair of tents around a campfire and one woman with the ears and tail of a raccoon staring intensely into it. She poked it a few times with her sword while he approached.

“Hello Raphtalia,” the Shogun said as he got within stabbing range, causing the racoon lady to jump and whirl around, “How was your grinding?”

“Oh, hello.” Raphtalia said as she recovered from her fright, “You’re a little late. Turns out Keel’s a girl”

“What?” the Shogun replied.

Raphtalia repeated herself but this brought him no greater understanding.

“She’s over in her tent if you want to ask her.” Raphtalia said, gesturing to one of the tents.

The Shogun went over and crawled in, startling a young woman with wolf ears who was wrapped up in blankets. She sat bolt upright and gave him a look of pure terror before her face relaxed.

“I hear you genderbent yourself.” the Shogun said, “Have you felt any thousand-year-long grudge against four people recently?”

“What?” Keel said, eyes bulging again and flicking around, “What are you talking about? What did she tell you?”

The Shogun chuckled internally.

“Nothing.” he said, “I merely wished to see your reaction. Do you…” he racked his brains to try to come up with the diplomatic thing to say, “wish to talk about it?”

Keel shrugged, her ears drooping.

“I dunno what to say man,” she said in a very tired voice, “You find out your dad wanted a son so hard he pretended you were a boy your whole life and then you only find out you were lied to when you grow boobs after killing some giant rat-thing and then tell me if you have any deep thoughts to share. I don’t even know what to think.”

The Shogun crouched down low to Keel’s eye level and put his hand around her back and on her shoulder.

“Would you like me to remove them?” he said softly and quietly “That is well within my skills. Trust me, I’ve been commissioned to perform sex-swapping operations for zombie concubines before and I could probably apply that to the living too. It seems a neat solution to this problem.”

“What? No!” Shock was writ large across Keel’s face but the Shogun paid it no mind. The Shogun tapped the base of his helmet as he thought.

“Or if you want something extra,” the Shogun continued, “I could also drain your chest and fill it with firedust so you have an emergency weapon. Pulled that trick on a few people before.” At this the Shogun chuckled darkly as he went deep down memory lane, “getting assassinated by fire-spitting zombie concubine titties made for a fantastic gravestone.”

“Sir,” Raphtalia said from behind.

The Shogun whipped around so fast his joints popped up a storm and glared at her. He hadn’t even noticed her follow him into the tent.

“Don’t call me sir.” the Shogun said, cutting her off with a glare. He didn’t want to be reminded of the spineless ghosts who constantly sought to curry favour with one of the First and Forsaken Lion’s lieutenants.

“Um, sorry,” Raphtalia replied, snapping her mouth shut as a ‘sir’ was forming on her lips, “But I don’t think you’re helping.”

The Shogun looked back at Keel, who was clutching the blankets around her chest and looking at the Shogun with an expression of horror. 

“Very well.” he said, looking back at Raphtalia, “Unless one of you wishes to involve me I shall leave things as they are.”

At this, he crawled past Raphtalia and to the campfire, prepared to begin his watch. When they go to sleep, it would be time to practice the powers that had been invested in him.


	9. Rising of the Shield Hero/8

The Shogun of Death’s Black Legions sat upon a large rock the size of a small boulder. He was in the middle of some broken, stony earth. The decapitated corpse of a monstrously vast snake lay near his feet. Days had passed since the last time the Shogun had made his ripples in the capital. The Shogun once again looked at the timer, now warning of only a few days remaining before the next Wave. He couldn’t stop himself fidgeting as he thought of how the next Wave would escalate the danger, nor could he stop the part of himself fearing that the other three Heroes wouldn’t listen to his orders at all. The faint groan of grinding metal accompanied his every fidget.

For the third time that day, he brought up Keel’s status page and scanned it again. The numbers themselves barely interested him; this was exactly the kind of thing he’d hand over to his old Moonshadow friend. It told him one important thing; he would have to visit the Church again. And soon. He took a deep, steadying breath and focused on stillness within him.

“Are you ready to go for your class up now, Keel?” the Shogun asked, looking up at her.

Keel nodded tightly and did not say a word.

The Shogun stood up with a practiced flourish that sent his cloak dramatically and rather ominously fluttering behind him. He was rather proud of that style.

“Then both of you,” he said, allowing a very faint smile to emerge hidden behind his helm “Let’s hope our welcome is warmer this time.”

\---

The sun hung low, almost touching the horizon as a party of three halted before the church. The reason for the abrupt stop was clear: A man robed in the garments of the clergy had emerged to hurl something strange at the Shogun and flee back inside.

As if time was slowed, the Shogun lazily watched it arc through the air straight at him. He tilted his head slightly so it just missed his right horn and fell to gently thud upon the ground behind him. The Shogun turned and bent down to pick up the strange object. The smell was unmistakeable; it was a single, small white clove of garlic. He rolled it between his fingers while he thought.

“It seems they mistook me for a vampire.” the Shogun said.

“What? You aren’t?” Raphtalia said from his right. The Shogun turned and glared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Why would you think so?” he said evenly.

“You drink blood.” Keel said from his left.

“And you got sharp teeth.” Raphtalia said, nodding along.

The two companions looked at each other and back to the Shogun before continuing.

“You like darkness and you get up to strange shit at night.” Keel said, also nodding.

“You’ve got bones all over you and raise the dead.” Raphtalia said, nodding some more.

“Also you’re tall, dark and broody.” Keel said. The Shogun thought that was a little unfair, he was hardly broody at all.

“Alright,” the Shogun said, raising his left hand, “I get it. I can see how the uninformed would think so.” 

He said nothing further as he turned his full gaze back on the clove and with a minor act of will caused it to wither and rot into slime within seconds. Had he stopped to think about it, he would have realised he was far more on edge now than he’d been in years and had no real explanation why. But such self reflection was far from his mind. He had more important business to attend to than ‘brooding’.

Wiping his armored fingers clean upon his cloak, the Shogun turned his attention back to the church. Actually, he wasn’t sure if calling it a church was the right thing. He vaguely remembered that when the head of a major religion was laired up in a church it was called something else, but he couldn’t remember it. Everyone called it the Church anyways. To the Void with semantics, it was time for action.

He strode to the church and once again pushed the doors open accompanied by a distant thunderclap. He ignored the faint patter of two pairs of much shorter legs dashing to keep pace with his stride. A gust of foul, cold wind blew forth with him, sending his cloak flapping as he looked around the insides of the church. The one who had thrown the garlic at him was on the other end, whispering furiously into the ear of a man clad in white robes, wearing glasses and with an excessively tall hat upon his head. The Pope. 

“Oh, my dear holy men and women,” the Shogun said sending a feigned warm voice echoing around the room, “What has your poor Holy Hero done to earn such ill treatment when he wishes to visit a place of worship?”

The Pope broke out into a broad, mirthless smile.

“Is it not normal for a church to exorcise its demons?” he asked.

“And for what cause must I suffer this demonic accusation?” the Shogun replied, his voice growing colder by the syllable. 

“Why,” the Pope replied without breaking his smile for a moment, “Because you clearly are a demon.”

The Shogun clenched his fist tightly and said in a very low, slow voice, “Let me be very clear with you. I am not a demon. I do not work with demons. I was not chosen by demons. Those bitter and broken failures stewing in their own impotent revenge fantasies have nothing to offer me.” He jabbed his finger at the Pope, “I have even less in common with them than you do.”

The Pope cocked his head slightly. Much to the Shogun’s surprise, his hat did not fall off. Magic must be involved somehow.

“You have a curious definition of demon,” the Pope said, “No matter. You are an enemy of this world. Thus, demon is a fair title for you.”

The Shogun would have got offended were he not a world-ending nemesis of life clad in the raiment of war to see Oblivion consume all that was in the name of chthonic unknowable horrors for whom the closest to any positive emotions came in how they hated their favoured slaves only slightly less than everything else to ever exist. Even so, he felt a mild flash of annoyance at how his efforts at heroism were still going unappreciated. He was, after all, off duty.

“I have put so much effort into keeping this world safe without threatening it in our own way,” the Shogun said. “So why? Why turn on me?”

“We only wanted to summon someone who would destroy the reputation of the Shield Hero forever.” Wrath clouded the Pope’s face as he said this. “The second princess and I had such a perfect plan. But you, you polluted the summoning ritual. Your influence dragged vile false heroes to this world. And so we need to end you and those you brought here so that once again we may have true and righteous heroes.”

“But why?” the Shogun couldn’t help but ask again, “Why do you hate the Shield Hero so?”

The Pope turned and gestured at the symbol of the Church, a sword, a spear and a bow.

“Beastmen.” the Pope said, turning his gaze back over Raphtalia and Keel with an expression of pure disgust, “Demihumans. All kinds of abominations. The Shield Hero always ends up supporting them. So we needed a hero as filthy and repulsive as the subhumans to drive your kind to ruin. 

“You summoned me here for a lie?” the Shogun said, “You people summoned me here, you told me I was supposed to help all of you, and now you tell me it was all for a lie?”

“Yes.” the Pope said with his face stretching into a smug grin, “You were a failure. So please, just die so we can try the hero summoning again.”

The Shogun thought hard of the inscrutable warmth he thought of being free of the Lion’s leash, of being able to carve his own legend in the world, of finally being appreciated for his deeds, of knowing he could save lives without the fury of the Neverborn inflicting black miracles upon the world in his wake. It turned into a bitter ocean of acid and bile deep within him, sharpened by his growing fury into a dozen claws clutching his heart. He felt shark-like teeth burst through his gums, devouring and subsuming his own teeth. His fists clenched with tight fury; if any natural force could break the magical materials powered with Essence, his gauntlets surely would have buckled and driven his fingers into his palm. With the extensive practice of one who must suppress his emotions to survive, he forced them down for now. Later, he told himself, he would feel this vitriol in full force. But now was a time of action, where pitiless clarity must reign if he was to survive. This Pope was probably a dangerous warrior for having such power and authority in this world; the Shogun needed a distraction.

The air grew so thick with tension it could almost be cut with a knife. The sun had slunk below the horizon and the twilight haze was slowly bleeding away into nothingness. Hidden by the cloak he had wrapped around himself, the Shogun twitched his fingers between sorcerously significant symbols and mouthed ancient words of power in Old Realm. The tainted Essence of the Underworld swirled around him, invisible to the eyes of mortals. Faintly, at first, growing greater and greater in power until they stirred his clothes like a gentle breeze radiating up from the ground. The Shogun marvelled internally as he wondered how the Pope could not see the Essence gathering around him like a storm. He sucked his cheeks in and bit deep of them, almost deep enough to puncture them. The lance of pain that accompanied a lethargic trickle of metallic blood could almost be ignored. Almost.

The Shogun could feel the hour in the back of his head. Even without the judgement of the sun, he could almost instinctively feel how long it would be before spectres could rise again and torment the living. Dusk, slipping away by the second. But not fast enough. He needed just a few minutes more for the daystar’s light to fade away to nothing. His mind whirled as he tried to think of how to delay the attempted murder for just a little longer. For the second time lately he thought of his old Moonshadow friend. Now that was a man who could bullshit for hours at a time.

The Shogun looked back at Keel and then at Raphtalia, shaking his head at both of them. Blades appeared in their hands as they completely misunderstood his signal. He did not even need to look to know they had taken place right next to him and ready to fight. The Pope, too, was preparing for a fight. As he watched, the Pope had a team of clergymen emerge from some backroom, produce a glowing spear and hand it over to him. With his sight, he could see how the clergy were connected somehow to the weapon, as if they were all simultaneously attuned to an artifact and powering it with their own magic. 

“That weapon,” he said, “You’re drawing magic from your own worshippers?”

“Correct!” the Pope said with genuine warmth this time, waving the glowing spear around, “This is a replica of the Holy Weapons. After building up a surplus of mana from our worshippers, we can power this weapon with a considerable fraction of the Holy Weapons’ true potential! Ah… How fitting you should be executed by the Holy Weapons themselves. It would make the years of preparation worth it.”

“You prepared it for years,” the Shogun said, almost stuttering with raw emotion, “and all that you’re going to do is kill the people you summoned?”

This was not simply treachery. This was lunacy. He doubted even the melodrama-addicted ghosts would come up with that idea. Something gave deep within the Shogun, like an ancient dam finally collapsing under a flood. There was a sound like a hundred little thunderclaps. Every window had great jagged cracks reaching across their length, as every single holy symbol crumbled into dust that smelled of mould and fresh earth. The light of dusk faded unnaturally fast too, until halfway through sunset it was like the depths of a moonless night and only a few sources of light provided faint but oddly weak illumination. His mouthplate swung open, exposing mummified muscle and teeth that had shifted into resembling that of a predatory monster with a slow, sluggish trickle of blood running down his jaw. 

Yet he did not spit curses, nor did he begin firing threats and insults. What remained of his lips curled into a smile that was halfway to a snarl.

“You did indeed summon a monster,” he burbled, sending more bubbling streams of blood down the bare muscle of his chin, “Now it’s my turn.”

The Shogun flung his arms out, completing the final mudra of his spell. He spat - or rather at this point, exhaled - the blood in his mouth that streamed out, passing behind the Pope and forming into a dozen crimson, vaguely humanoid hairless monsters with long fingers ending in claws and teeth like razors. They milled about in confusion, as some low intelligence within them recognised it was still day and yet the light of the sun could not harm them. At his wordless command, they fell upon the assembled priests, claws dyed scarlet and teeth snapping bone.

Shock had covered the Pope’s face as he looked uncertainly back and forth between the silent knight before him and the monsters at his back. Behind the Shogun, his two minions made to move but he applied a hand upon each of their heads.

“Wait.” the Shogun said quietly.

After a moment, the Pope had come to a conclusion. He turned around and aimed his spear at the hungry ghosts behind him. That was the signal the Shogun had been betting on. He rushed forwards and the Pope trying to bring the spear back around to halt him, but it was too late. The Shogun crossed the distance too quickly, grabbing the head in his hand, feeling it hiss and burn faintly even through the soulsteel covering his palm, and pushing it away from his body as he came within grappling distance. The Shogun wrapped his arms around the Pope and lifted him off the ground with some significant difficulty. Internally, he cursed his lack of physical strength once again managing to twist him in his arms so he was right behind

The Pope bucked and writhed in his grip, but the Shogun had the strength of the dead. With careful movement, he managed to twist the Pope in his grip so he was holding him from behind and the spikes in the Shogun’s armour punctured the Pope’s flesh like when the Shogun was first locked inside his carapace. He snapped his fangs across the Pope’s face and neck, gouging out gashes that were far shallower than he would have liked, at the same time his companions stabbed the bastard.

The Shogun’s companions had crossed the gulf between the two of them and as one they plunged their blades into the Pope’s body, tearing apart his abdomen and letting his slimy guts spill forth from the twin wounds on either side of his body. He let go of the Pope, expecting him to collapse, but he only fell to his hands an knees. He bore wounds severe enough that any mortal should bleed to death soon, although the Shogun had long since learnt not to apply this logic to his gamified new world. It wouldn’t even surprise the Shogun if the Pope were to suddenly stand up and begin yelling about his final form. But as the moments passed and the Pope struggled to keep his insides from going outside, he slowly relaxed.

The Shogun stared long at the fallen Pope. His hideous stomach wounds and the desperation of a dying man trying to preserve his life a little longer stirred up memories the Shogun tried to forget, of dying alone spitting threats of vengeance, yet the Shogun’s wrath had yet to cool and it crushed the twinge of sympathy he felt.

“This didn’t have to happen.” the Shogun said, unable to keep his voice trembling with fury, “This replica holy weapon. You could have used it to protect this world. Now look!” The Shogun gestured around at the dead bodies of his own clergy, mutilated and chewed down to the bone as they were. “Everything you could have used to do your damn job. Wasted, and for nothing.” The Shogun paced back and forth in front of the Pope and then lashed out his arm, narrowly avoiding knocking the Pope’s extravagant hat off his head, “How many years did you waste amassing mana for this sound and fury without substance? How much power did you waste on this aborted coup?”

“How many villages could you have saved with everything you wasted?” Keel asked the Pope.

Pale and wan, yet hate still twisted the Pope’s face. His spear shifted into an imitation sword and lashed out one last time, but his movement was slow and there was no real strength behind it. With his shield, the Shogun battered the sword away with almost casual ease, and with his right he tore the Pope’s head right off his shoulders. 

The Shogun knew he should have felt elation at the death of another enemy, yet he felt nothing. Nothing but anger undimmed and some small relief his foe had died quickly. The Shogun’s gaze flickered between the headless corpse and the head in his hand. He could not stop wondering how much had been wasted in this fight, how much the Pope could have helped if only he’d turn his replica legendary weapon upon the Waves, and how the Pope had lurched a nation further into civil war when all its might had to be turned into its own protection.

The weeks of repressed frustration and rage, once unleashed, would not go back into its box. A brief urge seized him to hurl the head as hard as he could, to dash the Pope against his own church, but he forced himself back down to the cold, dead rationality that was as much a survival strategy as a mentality. He closed his eyes for a long minute, focusing on the blackness as a small reflection of the glory of Oblivion as he took a deep breath. Perhaps the first deep breath in more than a year. His heart, the last remnant of his mortal life, slowed back down to a sluggish crawl pulsing his thick and only vaguely human blood through his veins. He opened his eyes once more to view the world through the pitiless clarity of obsidian. He looked into the sightless eyes of the Pope.

“I liked being a hero.” the Shogun said softly, but then his voice shook as he said, “But you, you lied to me. You never wanted me to be one. You were willing to threaten your own world for some stupid political gamble.”

The vengeful spirits dissolved back into insubstantial mist and flowed back through his helmet into his mouth again. As his mouthplace swung shut and once more let him pretend he was nothing more than a particularly scary mortal, his gaze flicked between the only living beings within the church; Raphtalia and Keel. The gore-drenched Raphtalia smiled broadly up at him and, feeling a slight tinge of warmth inside, he raised his left hand to gently stroke between her ears. Inevitably, his eyes drew towards the holy shield adorning his arm. Such bright colours fit so badly against the dark metal and bones of his carapace. Sized for a normal person, it seemed so small against his vast stature. A tiny light in the void. He withdrew his had from Raphtalia’s head and clenched it into a tight fist.

“Burn this place” the Shogun said coldly. He did not want to see it for a minute longer. Plus, it would distract the fire brigade this city surely had. “After, Keel, you class up.”

\---

The Shogun stared at the bonfire consuming the beautiful cathedral. There must have been a lot more wood in that building than he thought, it was blazing like wild. Parts of the roof were already beginning to slump and threatening to collapse. 

_This is wrong._

Some deep core part of him whispered entirely unlike to mad ravings of the Neverborn. His bile wrapped around it and tried to strangle it, grind it down into golden dust, but no matter how much his wrath stirred it always eluded him.

_This should not be._

“Silence,” the Shogun said to himself, “I have had enough voices in my head for one life.”

But it did not stop. 

\---

The Shogun of Death’s Black Legions marched alone to the castle. The taste of the blood of three people now was thick in his mouth, and he could not put aside his uneasiness in how right it felt to taste the blood of the living. On some level, he was aware that he was hyperventilating as his own physiology reacted to the feeling of betrayal deep inside him, yet mostly he did not care to pay attention. He had drawn his billowing cloak around himself so that he might hide the severed head of the Pope in its depths. Fortunately it had stopped leaving a trail of droplets of blood behind him.

At the castle gates a couple guards stood there, the night watch ensuring no mortal intruders could break in. The Shogun was briefly seized with the urge to splatter their brains across the door and drape himself in their skins, but he violently repressed that urge. He did not need to fight everyone within the castle. With a flash, he surrounded himself with burning ethereal green light. He knew, thought he could not see it, that his helmet bore a blazing rising sun brand upon its forehead, pouring blood down over his helmet and dripping down to mark his passage, a new trail that anyone could follow.

“Let me through,” he said in a dry, hissing tone, “And make sure your king knows I’m coming. I wish to speak with him.”

Draped in the supernatural terror of certain death, none within the castle chose to stop the Shogun as he stormed to the throne room, now leaving a trail of blood pouring from his caste mark and rot wherever the light of his glowing anima touched. A flash of blood-red light illuminated the throne room, perhaps originating in some distant unnatural thunderbolt or perhaps being dragged up from beneath his feet, as he gazed intensely at the empty throne. In another time, the Shogun would have questioned it, yet to him it seemed to be so natural, so right that he could not even think of it being wrong.

It was at that moment that the king burst out from a side door and hurriedly rushed to the throne, accompanied by several soldiers who took up position around the room. He was wearing a dishevelled bedrobe and his crown was tilting as if he’d thrust it upon his head without a care for its proper position. He looked like he was about to say something, but the Shogun cut him off.

“I bring you a gift,” the Shogun said dryly, and hurled the raggedly severed head.

With a thump, the former Pope’s snarling head landed right in front of King Aultcray sending a last few drops of congealing blood leaking from the torn neck. The king’s face turned deathly pale, his grip tightened upon the arms of his throne turning his fingers white, and his eyes went so wide that for a moment it was as if his eyelids would vanish into his hairline.

“What have you done?!” the king shouted and then darted his eyes around the room, “Guards! Quickly! Come!” The Shogun made a hand gesture and the king’s words faded into muffled gagging as his lips suddenly glued themselves together.

“Your treachery is equal only to your incompetency.” the Shogun said, cold fury still faintly tainting his voice, “He was planning the assassination of the Heroes and a coup against you right under your nose. You should thank me for this. But.” He let that word hang in the air as he took the room in. “He was also kind enough to tell me your secret too. I know why I was called here. And I know what your people plotted to do with me.”

More soldiers flooded into the room. In some deep, dark corner of his mind, the Shogun enjoyed having more witnesses to the deed he was about to commit. The spectral anima swirling around the Shogun’s body slowly drew back inside himself, like it was being inhaled in some vast breath. Then it exploded, filling the whole room with ethereal green flames that poured into the mouths and noses of every guard in the room. Every window and every mirror cracked at once and dimmed as centuries of filth accumulated on it, every piece of bare metal tarnished or rusted before the eyes, the mighty tapestries and carpet alike rotted into pieces before the eyes, and the stone seemed to weather for a thousand years and carry pitted marks like drops of acid had been flicked upon it. In the centre of it all, a vast spectral dragon writhed and opened its rotting mouth to silently howl with laughter.

The Shogun kept his focus pinning King Aultcray to his seat as the wailing began. The king’s eyes could hardly open wider and his muscles twitched as he writhed invisibly against both powerful bonds and supernatural dread tearing through every fibre of his body. The wet tearing of flesh soon added to those echoes. It came from the guards, as a necromantic curse had hijacked their very bodies and forced them to commit suicide and ascend as undead slaves to the Shogun’s will. None of the guards survived that spell. All exposed skin had marks from where their fingers had grasped at their skin. Most of them had deliberately torn out their throats. Many had fought so hard their flesh had ripped off their bones; on many an arm dangled split sections of skin and muscle like a messily peeled banana. Blood no longer flowed from their wounds; their 

Those who still had faces were frozen in expressions of horror and pain as their former owners had died. The Shogun thought how he could simply have the king slain. Paralyzed in the grip of the terror of the grave, the pathetic man would hardly put up much of a fight, and even a common zombie could probably cut his throat. And then the Shogun would have to find a new king. Perhaps even declare himself king. Of course, the violent transition of power would necessitate turning his power and slaves on the people of this kingdom until they were cowed into submission. And then, of course, the three other heroes would come kicking down his door. If not before. Then they would certainly not listen to him trying to talk any more, and he was uncertain as to his capability for terrifying them into obedience. They would likely bring an army of people who saw Aultcray as a martyr or otherwise were ready to risk their lives to end the new necromancer-tyrant. The Shogun too could raise an army of the dead to meet them and unleash spells that may even blight the world for generations to come. And after the bodies cooled, the world would be even more precarious than before. One small step forwards and one gigantic leap back. As he realised how counterproductive his imagination was growing, the Shogun suppressed once more his feelings. This was going to be Plan C.

“You need me alive,” the Shogun said at last to the paralysed king, “I do not need you alive.” Suddenly, he gave an exaggerated bow, as if mocking the royals and their. “I hope I don’t need to drop by again. It would be extremely unpleasant. For you.”

He fixed his gaze on each dead former soldier in turn.

“Guard him closely.” the Shogun ordered the fresh zombies. “And Aultcray, I want you to understand this: You rule because I tolerate it. Come after me, and you will join them.”

At this final line, the Shogun stormed out of the palace to find a city lit by a ruddy glow. 

_‘Ah, right.’_ the Shogun thought to himself. _‘The church. The church that we set aflame. The church that was burning so merrily. Seems this city has no fire brigade. Or perhaps they are merely incompetent. Wouldn’t put it past the people here. The same people who would try to murder the very heroes they summoned. Yes, these are the exact kind of people who’d forget to keep a fire brigade in their capital.’_

Finding himself unable to care for the random civilians who might die aflame, he quickly he marched through the crowded streets, and though on some level he enjoyed watching the panicked throngs of the living desperate to keep breathing for a few more decades leap out of his path, it now brought to mind the deceit that had been levelled upon him and only fuelled the smoking anger within his core for the past hour.

By now his rage had cooled into the acidic embers of pyre flame, awaiting the turning of earth to spark them back into blazing wrath. He paused for a moment, feeling an immense panic and regret as he realised just how far his lost temper had driven himself towards ruin. And yet, there can be no turning back from today.

Focusing upon the cold emptiness of the void, he took a deep breath and with his exhalation he expelled his fears and regrets from within him and returned to the detached analysis befitting a scholar-necromancer of the Underworld, as icy within as the deathly cold carapace that had bonded with his muscles. In a way, he felt so much better after venting all of his emotions out against some mortals who could hardly compare to a Shadow of the Abyss.

\---

The Shogun shoved open an inn’s door. This time, no great and ominous cloud of icy grave-wind followed him, and if he had not been great of stature and armoured in the panoply of Oblivion’s servants he likely would have gone almost unnoticed. He strode over to the table his two servants had claimed for their own and awaited his return from.

“We’re leaving”, the Shogun said flatly.

“Where are we going?” Raphtalia asked.

“To find another base,” the Shogun replied, “One where we may save the world,” and at this his voice turned sour, “without the interference of these mortals. I played the hero and they played us for a fool. Now is the time we do it my way. And we best leave quick afore the flames reach us.”

As he brought his companions out from the inn, the Shogun abruptly stopped. The dark clouds covering the sky slowly cleared, allowing the light of Luna to shine down upon a city riddled with fire and death. The Shogun felt some vast burden had been lifted from his soul, like the burning and death he had inflicted had lifted a great weight from his shoulders and he could see the world undimmed once more.

“Is something wrong?” Keel said from behind him.

The Shogun did not reply for several minutes. Finally, he said three words.

“Not any more.”


End file.
